


Chris Dies at the End

by AnotherAnon0



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Anal Gaping, Angst and Tragedy, Blood and Gore, Come Inflation, Extremely Fucked Up, Game: Resident Evil: The Umbrella Chronicles, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, Humiliation, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, One Shot, Physical Abuse, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Psychological Torture, Rough Sex, Seizures, Sexual Abuse, Shameless Smut, This fic is purely to indulge my anti-Chris fetish, Torture Porn, Tyrant rape, Verbal Abuse, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:41:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28938669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/pseuds/AnotherAnon0
Summary: At the Caucasus facility, Jill and Chris's final battle with T.A.L.O.S goes very, very wrong.[READ ALL TAGS]
Relationships: Chris Redfield/T.A.L.O.S Tyrant, Sergei Vladimir/Albert Wesker
Comments: 25
Kudos: 21





	Chris Dies at the End

Chris was numb. 

His rifle clattered to the ground, arms suddenly feeling as though they needed to drop through the earth, hands unable to grip anything. His tired legs buckled, knees striking to the floor so heavily it should have hurt.

But nothing did. He couldn't feel. He couldn't even hear when his lips formed jagged, broken sounds, ones that reverberated off of every corner of the massive, tin-walled battle room.

"J-J... J.. ill... J-ill..." 

Bile began to flood into his throat, cheeks and lips slack with horror as he took in the gory splatter that had become of her body. 

The moment T.A.L.O.S's compact missile had struck her, she became a rotten mound of crushed, burned flesh and broken bone. Her organs, those which still had shape, were splayed about the floor -- intestines dragged meters away. The smell of iron was overwhelming.

"N-n... n... no..."

He couldn't stop the stream of vomit that gushed from his guts. There was nothing of substance in it -- he hadn't eaten in days. It was nothing but a sickly, pale-yellow gorge of stomach fluids. It burned. it stunk. It made him feel even more sick. The tears that followed were just as involuntary, spilling from his unblinking eyes with almost as much force.

"No, no, no, n--" Chris began to heave, chest jerking and sputtering heavily, breaths deep but dangerously short of actual oxygen. He wanted to scream, but he couldn't. His body wouldn't let him.

Cruel cackles echoed through the tyrant testing arena's loudspeakers, mocking his suffering. Mocking her death. Mocking the foolish attempt they'd made to end Umbrella once and for all. It was unmistakably Sergei Vladimir -- the last executive on the board of Umbrella's sycophants. 

_**"Comrade! I am sorry about your teammate. She fought well! You should be proud!"** _

Chris tried to pull his attention towards the speakers positioned above him, but he couldn't. His chin dropped with every attempt, as though every part of his body was simply too heavy to hold. More bile spittled from the corner of his lip, unable to pull his eyes away from what had become of her.

He wanted to die.

The wail that escaped him was primitive, guttural, blood-curdling. He brayed in agony, fingers clawing at the material of his fatigues. 

**_"Now, now. I am sure you feel quite sad at this moment. You have my sympathy! But trust that she gave her life for a great cause! Umbrella has been vindicated! The motherland will rise again!"_ **

"YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" Chris screeched, throat almost feeling like it was shredding. Spittle bubbled from his mouth, corners practically foaming. He broke into a sob. He looked over to where the Tyrant was now perched, standing back on his haunches like a werewolf, analysing him intently from the back of the arena. It didn't make any attempt to harm him, for which he was infinitely enraged.

"Just kill me-- kill me too! J-just... J..."

**_"You want to die, comrade?"_ **

"Yes..." Chris mumbled at first, lips twitching into a scowl before another screech escaped him, "YES! JUST DO IT YOU COWARD!"

**_"I am touched by your desire to serve Umbrella. Truly. But T.A.L.O.S' battle trial is more than complete. You both did a splendid job!"_ **

Chris wailed again, heaving sobs aching through his tired chest. His eyes floated back to Jill's remains -- some of the thinner smears of blood already beginning to dry and crack on the floor. He wondered, for a moment, what would become of him. If he'd be left to simply fade away in that room alongside her. He could think of no worse a fate. His mind would starve before his body, if he still had a mind to starve at all.

Just as a haze of dopey dizziness settled in, the loudspeakers blared to life again.

**_"Awww, comrade... Do not look so grim. I am not a cruel man... The least I can do is make you as useful as you wish to be."_ **

A moment of nothingness passed, until Chris heard a loud _CLICK_. The tyrant was standing again, its muscles flexing and pulsating like electricity was running through it. Chris watched in horror as a few sheets of the tyrant's armour seemed to rise from their hydraulic hinges and clamour to the floor, its main missile system falling heavily as they did. 

T.A.L.O.S began to walk its ragged, choppy walk towards him, looking like a horse trotting on its hind legs. As it did, more and more of its reinforced armour fell to the floor, leaving a trail of metal behind it as it stalked forward, revealing the ghastly physique of the horrifically deformed T-011 tyrant beneath 

Chris screamed, shuffling backwards on his bottom. He weeped and sobbed, hands running over his utility belts to find not a single bullet nor knife left. Not an incendiary nor flash grenade. Nothing. And what did it matter anyway, he thought to himself bitterly, he'd wanted to die. He'd asked for it. All he could hope was that it was going to be as quick as Jill had gone.

He had no retaliation when T.A.L.O.S reached out with one of its massive, grisly hands, grabbing him by the skull like it were plucking a baseball from the ground. He simply screamed, legs involuntarily thrashing and hands beating on the appendage impotently. 

**_"Comrade, I have activated the T.A.L.O.S bio-duplication function. Please be assured that your contribution will be just as valuable to us as Ms. Valentine's!"_ **

The words barely registered, the thick Russian accent reverberating through the battle arena like a dark fog. 

"N-no..." Chris squeaked, feeling as though his head were being crushed in the grip of the beast's four-fingered claw. He felt himself dangling heavily, unsure of how high he was from the floor now. 

The tyrant started at him through its uneven, red-glowing eyes. Chris could faintly hear a grumbling, clicking chatter roiling from its now un-armoured chest. It reached out with its slightly more human hand, clutching at the collar of his green tactical vest. In one simple swipe, it was torn from his body. His coat was the next to go, the thick, arctic tactical wear torn along the seams like it were a threadbare rag. 

Horror was welling up in Chris' heart as he realised what was happening. The creature was stripping him bare. He didn't want to think about what would come after that. With a mighty swing of his leg, he attempted to kick at the tyrant's skull -- just barely grazing the fleshless flesh with the toe of his boot. 

It wasn't pleased. The clicking coming from its chest turning to a slow growl.

Using the same hand it had torn his clothes with, the tyrant grabbed at the leg he'd used to kick out with, clutching the ankle as though annoyed by it. It squeezed it at first, as though the appendage were a snake it could suffocate out of existence. When the foot still moved, it decided on a different method -- pulling. 

A blood-curdling scream screeched from Chris' throat as the bones were dislodged in his knee and hip. The creature kept pulling, as though it expected to be able to tear the limb straight off like a doll's part. Chris continued to scream, wailing through the claws gripping at his head. Not even when the tyrant released did he stop, his leg hanging limply beneath him.

He was unceremoniously dropped to the floor, the tyrant's claw releasing and letting him fall freely until his skull cracked into the aluminium below. 

And then he went quiet.

\--

Sergei's unscarred eye was wide, unblinking, pupil fully constricted. His vodka had gone completely neglected. 

A delirious, beaming grin was twitching its way across his face as he watched the scene on the monitors, body practically quivering with excitement as he watched T.A.L.O.S deliver swift kicks to the semi-conscious body of the American.

He could hear Chris gurgling and spitting, groaning and grunting as his ribs were broken and stomped upon repeatedly -- the tyrant seeking submission from what it had been programmed by the Red Queen to see as a potential _mate_. 

"Dear Lord... is that...?"

Sergei didn't even flinch when he heard the deep, methodic drawl of the familiar voice wisp around his head and snake into his ears. He was somewhat surprised, having ordered both of his personal bodyguards on the treacherous wretch -- but somewhat unsurprised simultaneously. Undeniably, Albert Wesker was a formidable opponent. He always had been.

"You got Ivan? Not bad, comrade." Sergei simply said, not breaking his focus on the monitors before him.

"You got him. Y-you actually got him." Albert's words were almost breathy as he staggered up to stand next to Sergei, gun clattering to the ground as his arms became lazy with a hazy delirium. "You got... you got him... Redfield." Albert set his hands onto the console, trying to stabilise himself while he looked on at the scene playing out on the screen. T.A.L.O.S was making quick work of Chris' pants now, shredding them from his body in layers. 

"W-what is it doing? What's it doing now?" Albert began to blather questions, excitement welling up in his chest, "Is he dead? Why is it doing that?"

Sergei chuckled, turning for the first time to look down upon Albert's expression. It was just as crazed as he knew his was. 

There was something _too_ religious about watching an opponent be destroyed. Too primal. Too primitively pleasing to the neanderthaloid remnants of the brain. 

"I activated T.A.L.O.S's reproductive function. I wanted to see how it would react to the presentation of a viable body..." Sergei smiled when Albert's neck snapped to look up at him, his lips parting in shock, "For science. Of course."

Albert's expression stilled for a moment. Pink lips gaped, cheeks slack, eyebrows pushed up into his hairline. Beyond the dark glasses, Sergei could see his pale eyes flashing from the monitor to him. Back and forth. Over and over.

"It's going to... _rape_ him to death?"

Sergei chuckled. Albert almost looked _cute_ , so awe-struck and coy.

"I know you've come to kill me, but..." Sergei reached out with a delicate finger and plucked Albert's glasses by the bridge, pulling them from his face gently, "Would you like to put business on hold... and watch with me?"

Albert sighed softly, tongue slipping out to run across his lower lip. He responded to the odd gesture with one of his own, taking Sergei's white cravat between his thumb and index finger and slowly pulling it from the older man's neck, letting the delicate fabric flutter to the ground like spilled milk.

"It isn't good to mix business with pleasure, indeed."

"Mm."

Albert humphed, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards into a sly smile, "For old times, Sergei?"

"For old times, comrade."

\--

Chris could do nothing more than whimper when the tyrant began to manipulate his broken body -- brain still hazy from the hard knock into the floor his head had endured.

T.A.L.O.S tugged him by his dislodged leg, dragging him along the ground for a few feet before trying haphazardly to flip him over with its massive, limbering limbs. When it finally did, Chris just barely caught a glimpse of the trail of blood he'd left while being dragged, his skull clearly fractured and oozing. 

He could taste blood. Lots of blood. His entire mouth stunk of iron and bile, the acrid smell wafting into his sinuses and causing his stomach to lurch in disgust of its own contents. A gasp of pain gurgled through him as he felt his broken leg be tugged again, this time _outwards_. The tyrant was spreading his legs. 

He wanted to cry. To scream. To whine. But in his new position, blood was flowing up from his broken ribs, making any noise beyond a pathetic choke impossible. 

When the loudspeakers screeched to life again, it wasn't the voice of Sergei Vladimir that rang through the arena, but a lazy drawl he could identify even in his dazed, broken state.

_**"Hello, dear heart. It's been so long. Too long."** _

Chris' cheek twitched as he heard Albert's voice drip through the speakers, snaking into his ears. He coughed pathetically, blood spattering from his lips as his body immediately reacted to the realisation in whatever way it could.

_**"My good friend Sergei tells me you're going to be used to test the T.A.L.O.S breeding capabilities... Sounds like a delicious show."** _

There was an odd sound weaving through Albert's words. A _smacking_ noise, like someone was planting kisses along his neck and cheeks as he spoke.

**_"Don't worry, dear heart. I'm sure you'll be able to find your way out of this one like you always do."_ **

Louder _smacking_. A muffled groan.

**_"Won't you?"_ **

If he moved his chin just right, Chris could see T.A.L.O.S was standing still, looming above him. Between its legs, a slit had begun to part, the flesh opening like a putrid curtain of twisted skin. His bloodshot eyes widened as he watched a thick, heavy cock began to slither out of it like a reptile emerging from a cave. It dropped slowly, extending further and further, hanging towards the ground.

"N-n...o..." He murmured weakly, "N..n..noo."

 _ **"See that, Chris? All of that is going inside of you!"**_ Albert's voice was psychotic, shaky, breathy. There was a loud rustling noise in the background -- one that sounded like clothes being strewn off.

T.A.L.O.S's cock almost seemed prehensile. It snaked up and moved of its own volition, the heavy, grapefruit-sized head lifting itself as though it were searching for him. As though it could _see_ him. Chris clenched his eyes shut, but even that small bit of exertion was painful. He didn't want to see. 

But the moment he felt the blunt head prod between his thighs, he let out an involuntary scream of fear. His broken ribs immediately protested the contraction of his chest, punishing him by prodding the sharp bone into his muscles. His scream faded into a gurgle of excruciating pain as the cock began to try to force its way into his virginal hole.

The tight ring of muscle spasmed and clenched desperately, trying to prevent the unwelcome intrusion. But was an impotent effort. The monstrous organ had no consideration for his fear or his body's protest, it simply pushed. Harder. And harder. And harder. He could feel himself tearing with every centimetre of dilation his unprepared anus was forced to endure. The T.A.L.O.S didn't do so much as flinch when its cock suddenly thrust forward, fully piercing into the body beneath it. 

In an instant, vomit poured from his lips, streaming down his cheeks and pooling in his eyes. Chris could feel himself beginning to quake. His muscles were clenching up across his body involuntarily, even his broken leg was starting to twitch. Bursts of soul-crushing pain were being broken up with flashes of white-hot nothingness. As he seized, involuntarily thrashing around his rapist's cock, T.A.L.O.S seemed delighted by what it perceived to be its mate's attempt to satisfy it.

It thrust its prehensile cock in deeper, snaking it through the depths of Chris' intestines, completely unconcerned with his very human anatomy and how it was splitting around it. When it could reach no deeper, T.A.L.O.S began to withdraw, its cunt-like sheath pulling its cock back in until it was just barely still penetrated.

And then it thrust again -- quick and rapid, as deep as it could go.

And then it slowly withdrew. Agonisingly slowly.

And then it thrust again.

Chris barely registered the sensations inside of him, and even Albert's voice bubbling over the loudspeaker was a fanciful nothing his mind tried to blot out. 

**_"Ch-ris... No-nothing is m-making me happ-happier ri-right now than to s-see you g-get split like the ch-cheap whore you are!"_ **

Sergei's voice piped up, sounding somewhat muted and more distant, but still able to be picked up by the microphone. He sounded offended.

**_"Nothing?"_ **

Albert's cackle caused the reverberation on the loudspeaker to squeal.

**_"C-Chris, be-be a g-good bo-y for d-daddy and le-let that g-giant fu-cking cock r-ruin you!"_ **

**_"Who is daddy?"_** An accented purr.

**_"Mmm. You a-are, d-daddy!"_ **

**_\--_ **

" _Blyat_! You are so tight!"

Sergei grunted like an animal, slamming his hips into Albert's ass in a forceful rut. He squeezed at the younger man's bony hips, fingers digging into the tender flesh so firmly he knew he was bruising the pale skin. It was no matter -- neither of them minded leaving marks on each other. They never had. 

Albert twisted and pushed back on Sergei's massive cock, back arching and tongue lulling from his flushed lips greedily. He'd always loved how the older man was able to hit his deepest bundles of nerves, tickling hits guts in a pristine way no other being had been able to. It had been the first thing he'd pouted over when he realised Sergei wasn't going to abandon his post at Umbrella and join him. He'd begged him to join just for the sex alone, telling him it would be a profound loss to the world if his glorious cock went up in smoke with Umbrella. 

"O-fu- He-he's--" Albert tried to speak through ragged pants, eyes having caught a glimpse of T.A.L.O.S delivering a particularly brutal thrust, "H-he's g-get-getting fu-fucked so-good!"

"Like a cocksleeve." Sergei whispered, "Imagine how his insides look right now."

Albert moaned loudly, a psychotic smile tugging at his lips. He gasped when he felt Sergei's hand jerk at a fistful of his hair, cocking his head back painfully.

"You're a cocksleeve too, aren't you?" Sergei hissed into his ear.

"Mmmyes."

"A sadistic little cocksleeve." Sergei stilled his hips for a moment, noticing a bead of sweat trickling down Albert's temple and desperately needing to lick it off. He slurped the crystalline drop, prompting a groan from the blond still impaled on his cock. "My _treacherous_ little sadistic cocksleeve."

"Y-yes... f-uh..."

Sergei rocked his hips again, using Albert's hair as a grip for every short thrust he made into his body. As he did, his eyes fluttered up towards the monitors once more, a sickly gratifying sensation welling up in his chest as he realised T.A.L.O.S was on the verge of climax just as he was.

"This will finish him, _malysh_..." Sergei whispered, "Tyrant cum is like acid in a human."

"G-god f-fuck--yess!" Albert whimpered.

"His guts will be completely scorched as he is filled." Sergei licked his lips, "Stomach pregnant with a boiling load that slowly eats away at him..."

" _G-gahhh_! Yes! Yes!" 

"Your old comrade..."

"Oh-m-my g-god!"

"Destroyed while you were getting stuffed like a pig!"

Sergei thrust himself into Albert's clenching hole a final time. hips slapping into the other man so firmly Albert's knees buckled and he was sent slamming into the console below. But he barely recognised it, his own orgasm spilling from his rock-hard cock the moment he felt Sergei's warmth fill him. 

The two men stilled in their exhausted bliss, Sergei unable to bring himself to withdraw from Albert's twitching cunt. In that moment, he was perfectly content to leave himself punctured into the tight body forever, and Albert didn't seem in a state to protest. 

A blood-curdling scream broke their silent intimacy.

"It is done." Sergei sighed contently. 

"S-sh-should we g-go down t-there?"

"Mm. Yes."

**_\--_ **

Sergei sighed deeply as he looked down upon what was left of Chris Redfield. 

The boy's body was thoroughly broken. His beet-red, sore, prolapsed anus spewed globs of thick, thick, white cum between his legs. The bones in his chest stood through the flesh in all the wrong places. His limbs were twisted and bent awkwardly. His eyes were leaking blood, tinting the pristine caramel a sickening black. His stomach was bloated, stretched, skin straining and blushing with the built up pressure of the noxious cum inflating his organs.

But still, he twitched. He grunted. He lived. 

Sergei shook his head, eyebrows cocking in some degree of disbelieving impress.

"I must commend you for your resilience, comrade." He said, "You have a strong will. I am almost sad for you, now."

Sergei felt Albert's hands snake along his naked chest, the blond pressing his body into the older man's side like a trophy wife framing her muscular husband. They were both only half-dressed, having hastily departed their station of purview like giggling schoolgirls once T.A.L.O.S had completed its breeding cycle.

"He always does this." Albert pouted, "If you leave him, he'll sprout a leg out of his forehead and drag himself out of here, I assure you."

Sergei chuckled, " _Malysh_ , I have no intention of leaving him like this. That would be cruel!"

He held up the bottle of _Bajika_ he'd been dangling lazily at his thigh and offered it to Albert. The blond unscrewed the cap and took a deep swig, nose wrinkling in cringe as the strong vodka burned his throat. He handed it off to Sergei quickly, who replicated him -- taking another deep drink from the bottle.

And then he turned the spout downwards, the crystal clear liquid _glugging_ loudly from the thin neck. It spilled across Chris' wrecked body, prompting a whimper as the 176-proof liquor seeped into some of the wounds the boy had accumulated throughout his evening. 

Sergei poured until the bottle was empty, tossing the glass component across the room carelessly. It shattered as he fished out a box of matches from his pocket, suddenly really wishing he had a cigarette.

He firmly struck a match against the rough catch on the side of the box, the little strip of wood igniting in a burst of sparks immediately. 

"Do you want to do the honours, my doll?" Sergei said cutely.

Albert giggled and nodded, carefully taking the tiny torch from Sergei's tremendous fingers. He held it for a moment, watching the flame slowly creep down the wood. It was as though it were rushing for his fingers. As though it were trying to stop him.

But he couldn't be stopped. 

Not by anyone. Ever again. 

**Author's Note:**

> FAQ:
> 
> Why would you do this: I don't know
> 
> What is wrong with you: I don't know
> 
> Who told you to do this: *eyeballs the person*
> 
> Are you sorry: no 
> 
> TO BE QUITE FRANK, and to the surprise of absolutely no one who has interacted with me, I am very anti-Chris. I hate him. I think he is a horrible character and I genuinely despise his Mary Sue ass. SO, based on a convo with SweetNSimple where they mentioned that it just seems obscene that some of these characters just can survive literally ANYTHING and it makes no sense, and another convo where they were like "why the hell haven't you done this yet already then" so I JUST DID IT.
> 
> This is the one universe where Chris dies at the end.


End file.
